


I Was Last

by missingparentheses



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Character Death, Conflict, Family Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lando POV, Original Character(s), Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingparentheses/pseuds/missingparentheses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My name is Lando. I was last."<br/>In April of 2041, Lando Neal receives a phone call that changes his life and forces him to face what he's been running from for almost a decade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My name is Lando. I was last.

I’m going to start by being completely honest with you. I don’t think about my family that much. It’s not as if I have all this hatred or bitterness brewing under the surface all the time...at least, not anymore. Maybe I left that back with my angsty youth, or maybe I’ve just repressed it. I don’t know. Maybe I should call my therapist again.

It’s not like I never think about them. I do care, really. But it feels like they’re a part of my past, this old life I barely remember, barely have the time to think about, so it gets crowded out. But that doesn’t mean I’m unaffected when I get the phone call.

“Hey Lando, it’s Lincoln.” I knew it was him. I may be a useless brother, but at least I still have him in my contact list for God’s sake.

“Hey man!” I say, forcing the chipperness a little. “What’s up? How’s Katie?”

“Katie’s fine, the kids are fine, we’re doing okay,” he says in a less-than-okay tone.

“Good, good, that’s good. So...”

“Yeah…um, Lando, you’re going to need to come home.”

All my impossible-to-shuffle, pressing obligations file through my head, and while my instinct is to lay them out, to argue why that is just not possible, something in his tone tells me that my priorities are going to have to change.

“Mom’s dying.”

\---

I'm on an overnight flight from Philly to LAX, sitting next to a large man who just may have an apnea issue and a salt-and-pepper brunette reading a book. She's probably in her sixties. I'm fidgeting. I get that from my dad. Damn. I didn't even call to see how he's doing.

The woman glances at my fidgeting hands once or twice before smiling up at me. “You wouldn't happen to have a mint or a piece of gum, would you?” she asks.

“Oh, um,” I mumble, patting my pockets and thinking through my carry-on. “No, I guess not. Sorry.”

“Well, I don't mind if you don't. I just figured if I was going to talk with you, I should make it as pleasant for you as I can!”

I chuckle in spite of myself. “You were conspiring to talk with me? You looked pretty into that book.”

“Ahh, the book can wait. Where are you headed?”

The plane’s going to LA, so initially this seems like a dumb question, but then I figure it could hypothetically be a via point, and also she's just making conversation. “Well, home. Sort of. I don't live there anymore. I'm...my family is there.”

“That's nice. What's the occasion?”

I pause. Is this small talk polite, like a “How are you?” sort of insincere question, or does she really want to hear bad news from a stranger? Well, she asked. “My, um…my mom, she’s...dying.” My voice cracks on the last word. I look at my lap, embarrassed. Her smile fades, and she puts her hand over mine.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. Is she ill?”

“Yeah. Terminal breast cancer. I haven’t really been in touch, but I think they just found out not too long ago and it turned out it was really advanced. She just went downhill fast.”

“My dad went fast too,” she says, looking absently out the window beyond me. “He woke up sick one day and was gone by the next. It was like emotional whiplash. Happened just a few months after I got married. Are you?”

“Married?”

“Yes, sorry. I don’t see a ring.”

“No, ma’am. Never been.”

She’s looking me in the eye again, her hand still over mine like we’re old friends. “I’d like to be thinking of your mom, and the rest of you too. Can I ask her name?”

I clear my throat when I feel it tighten. “Christy. Her name is Christy.”

“Well, that should be easy enough to remember. That’s my name too.”

\---

I planned to get a rental, but I guess they want it to be all family togetherness, because Locke is waiting at the terminal. I can see he’s started to go gray, but it’s nicely disguised by his blond curls. He isn’t smiling, but he offers his hand as I approach, and I give it a firm squeeze.

“Hey man,” I say. “Thanks for picking me up. How’s she doing?”

“Your mom or my wife?” Locke says humorlessly.

“Well, both I guess.”  
  
“Your mom is hanging in there. I think she’s waiting for you, to be honest. Lily’s doing as well as can be expected. They’ve always been so close.” I catch an accusational edge in his voice but decide to ignore it. I probably deserved that.

“And my dad?”

“What do you think, Lando?”

That clams things up pretty quickly. Without further conversation besides the occasional essential passing of information, he helps me with my luggage, and once it’s wrangled into the back of his Toyota we’re off, straight for the hospital.

\---

I thought she was so young. I thought she’d live forever.

It’s like a punch in the gut to see her there, feeble and paper-skinned, aged unfairly, cruelly. I stand in the doorway, my carry-on still slung over my shoulder. When I set it down gently on the chair near the door, the sound interrupts the rhythmic beeping of the machines encircling her, and my family turns in unison to see me there.

“Baby,” Mom whispers. Lily and Lincoln offer shy smiles that don’t reach their eyes, and Dad jumps up and wraps his arms around me. I’m stunned out of my stupor after a moment, and my arms go around his frame hesitantly. I hear him sniffle against my shoulder.

“Thanks for coming, Lando,” he whispers.

“Of course I’d come! Why wouldn’t I come?” I say, more hurt than angry. He lets me go and turns his gaze back to her as an invitation for me to approach the bed. I step into the ring of machines and take her frail hand, afraid I’ll break it.

“Hi, Mom.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “How are you feeling?”

She chuckles lowly. “Awesome. I’m going to see Jesus soon, you know!” My eyes fill and I chuckle with her. “You got any messages you want me to pass on to him?” she says with a grin.

“Well, we aren’t on great terms lately, Mom. I don’t know if he wants to hear anything I’d have to say.”

“He already knows, baby,” she says and squeezes my hand weakly. “He can take it.”

\---

I’m in the waiting room with my siblings and their families. Dad wrote a song for Mom and wanted to be alone to sing it to her—well, alone except for Rhett, still playing that old guitar, and since Dad never learned to play, he needs his wing man to back him up. I don’t think Mom minds. She knew when she married him that he was part of an unbreakable set.

There are a lot of kids in here. Gratefully the older ones are entertaining the younger, and while it’s still louder than I’m in the mood for, I have to admit it’s not chaos. Lily’s oldest, Mona, seems to be a natural with kids, talking animatedly with them and seeming enthralled by their stories. Lily was like that with me.

She’s sitting quietly across the room, holding Locke’s hand with her left, her chin pressed down into her right, elbow on her thigh. She must sense me watching her, because her eyes swoop up and she gives me a half-smile. When I smile back, she squeezes Locke’s hand before letting it go and crossing the room to the seat beside me.

“Hey kiddo,” she says.

I breathe a laugh through my nose at the nickname. “Hey Lil. How’re you holding up?”

“Awesome,” she rolls her eyes a little. “Mom’s seeing Jesus soon, you know!”

I laugh humorlessly. “Yeah, so I hear. But really, are you okay?”

Lily’s smile fades and she sighs. “I wish you’d been here.”

I wince. “I’m here now.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “So what’s new, big shot? How’s life for the fancy people?”

“My life’s not that fancy, Lil. I flew coach out here.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Seeing anybody these days?”

“Nothing serious.”

“Just wild flings? Tell me everything.”

I laugh. “Gross.”

“Gross, Mom,” Mona echoes, smirking. Lily waves her fingers in an arc toward her 16-year-old. “You didn’t hear anything…”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Mona chuckles, returning her attention to her cousins and her sisters.

Dad and Rhett walk in. Rhett doesn’t move so fast these days, his back feeling the burden of so many years at such a height, but his arm is slung across Dad’s shoulders for support. Dad’s eyes are puffy behind his glasses. We all look up expectantly, dreading bad news. “She’s going to get some rest. Go on home.”

The younger kids hop up to greet their grandpas, old enough to understand what’s going on but not quite old enough to grasp the proper etiquette. They’re met with patience and kind, if brief, answers.

The kids pacified and Rhett aided into one of the chairs, Dad strides to where I’m sitting and crouches down to eye level. He was always good about that, not looking down to me. “There’s a place for you at the house, son. I’m going to stay here with your mother, but you can go ahead and make yourself at home. Do you remember the combination for the door?”

“Dad, I can stay at a hotel. I don’t want to put you out.”

“How are you putting me out? I won’t even be there. Not that I would mind you there if I was. There, I mean. Order yourself a pizza or something and relax. You remember the com?”

“Yes, Dad, I remember the com.”

“Good. I’ll call if anything...changes.”

I stand and see Lincoln jingling his keys. “I’ll give you a ride.”

I smile and nod in thanks. As I begin to follow, I overhear Rhett’s voice in a low tone. “You want me to stay with you, brother?” I don’t hear my dad’s answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh The house is clean and quiet when I open the door. I drag my luggage into the kitchen and drop heavily into one of the kitchen chairs. I’m drained, and I’m starving. After ordering a pizza, I crack open the fridge for something to tide me over. It’s practically empty. Don’t they eat? I find a Coke in the back and settle for that.

I’m sitting at the table drinking my Coke when the quiet starts to get to me. Tired as I am, I can’t sit still. Leaving my drink on the table, I grab my luggage and begin to wheel it through the living room and thump up the stairs toward my old bedroom, peeking in other rooms along the way. After Lily left for college, they turned her room into an exercise room, but that eventually transitioned into a playroom for the grandkids. All the toys are neatly arranged by type and size, professional photos of the kids lining the walls surrounded by inspirational Bible verses about the joys of children. There are a few kids I’m not sure about, so I leave my bags in the hall and step in for a better look. On closer inspection, I determine these must be Shepherd’s stepkids. I suppose it makes sense. Family was never restricted to blood. Dad and Rhett taught us that.

The older kids are still featured as little ones in these pictures, a way to hang on to their childhoods, or maybe for my parents to do so. I saw their more current pictures hanging in the living room over the mantel. After Mona, Lily and Locke had Sandra, now thirteen, and then Danica, ten. A month after Danica was born, Lincoln and Katie welcomed Charles Lincoln Neal V—they call him Charlie. A couple years later they had Hope; she’s eight now. I’m embarrassed to admit I had never even met her in person until the hospital today. I keep all their birthdays in my phone calendar and send a card and a check. I suppose the little kids probably don’t get too excited about a check, but I don’t know what they like. I don’t know how old Shepherd’s stepkids are, but they look younger than Hope if the pictures are up-to-date. Early elementary school probably. I think I heard his wife was pregnant with their first baby together. So that’s cool.

I continue my trek down the hall. Lincoln’s room looks like a generic guest room now, with a double bed draped in a navy-and-white print comforter, a small painted dresser, a floor lamp, an oak chest that’s likely filled with extra blankets and pillows, and a bookshelf with a wide variety of options. Fantasy tomes, biographies of comedians and public figures, DIY manuals, Bible commentaries, comic books, and grocery-line magazines. Everything looks recently dusted.

My room is next. I open the door slowly and my breath catches. Nothing has changed. My posters, my bed, my stuff, it’s all there, just like I remember it. I don’t know why this affects me so much, but I find I’m swallowing back tears. I wheel my things into the room, stepping silently as if I’m entering a shrine, like I’ll disturb something sacred. I sit gently down on the bed, running my hand over the surface of the comforter: hello again, I remember you. When I glance up to look out the window, I see one thing has changed; there’s a blue orchid on the windowsill, blooming strong, freshly watered even.

I get up and unpack my things into the dresser. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, and I really can’t afford to miss too much work, though I can do as much as possible remotely. And it’s not like I can leave. Not until...well, not now. I shove the empty suitcases into the closet, and I’m changing into some lounge pants and an old t-shirt when the doorbell rings. I forgot about the pizza! I quickly pull my clothes on the rest of the way and run to grab my wallet from the kitchen table.

\---

I’m in a panic. There’s music playing, and I don’t know where I am. A minute ago I was in my office and there was a tiger there singing something my dad used to sing to me, and now it’s dark except for the moonlight from the window, which is on the wrong side of the room. Then the fog starts to clear, and the clock on my old bedtable says 4:32. My phone is ringing. I clear my throat and hum a note to erase the sleep from my voice before answering.

“Get dressed,” Lincoln says. “Mom’s crashing. We’ll be there in five minutes to pick you up.”

I’ve thrown on some jeans and the t-shirt I was wearing last night, and I hastily brush my teeth while slipping on some flip-flops. I see the headlights coming up the driveway as I’m running down the stairs. Katie has squeezed into the back seat with the very sleepy kids so I can sit in front by my brother. There are a few nods and sad “hi”s around the car, but not much more is said on the drive to the hospital. Lincoln’s jaw is clenched and he’s jiggling his left leg up and down. He should probably slow down a little, but I get it.

When we’ve parked in the hospital garage, Lincoln and I start to run ahead before he turns on a second thought, not wanting to leave his family in the dust. “It’s alright,” Katie waves us on. “Go ahead. We’ll catch up.” We pick up the pace. A wave at the lady at the front desk, a press of the elevator button and an impatient twenty-second wait, another impatient twenty-second ride, a jog down the hall, around the corner, down the next hall. Rhett’s in the hallway outside her room, his eyes swollen and red. Oh God. We slow our pace ten feet from the door as he meets our eyes silently. We round the corner into her doorway. Dad is kneeling on the floor by Mom’s bed, sobbing into the back of her hand. Lily is standing at the foot of the bed crying quietly into Locke’s chest, the girls huddled together at his shoulder with tears running down their cheeks.

“Oh God,” Lincoln echoes my thoughts. We approach the bed and she comes into focus, peaceful and beautiful and fragile as porcelain. “Mom…”

Dad reaches a hand up at the sound of his voice, and Lincoln takes it without a thought. I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, boys,” he whispers. “You just missed her.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s 7:24 a.m, and I’m sitting in the hallway outside the room next to Rhett, dazed. There’s a confusing mixture of busyness and somberness in the air around us. My dad is still sitting at Mom’s bedside, this time in a chair, stroking her hair and talking to her quietly. Locke’s on his phone partway down the hall; I think he’s talking to his brother. Shepherd lives an hour away, but it sounds like he and his family will be coming down today or tomorrow. Katie took the kids to the cafeteria for breakfast, and Lily and Lincoln are talking with a nurse, making arrangements. I feel useless. The useless brother strikes again.

Rhett pats me amicably on the knee. “I’m sorry about your mom, Lando.”

“Thanks,” I say, then after a pause, “I'm sorry about Jessie.”

Rhett pulls his hand back into his lap. “Yeah, me too.”

“I should have…” I begin, trailing off.

When I don’t finish, he smiles sadly at me, raps my knee twice with his knuckles, then stands up, leaving me alone. He enters the room and stands behind Dad silently with a hand on his shoulder. Without looking up, Dad’s hand comes up to cover Rhett’s.

\---

“Can I make you something to eat, Son?” my dad asks the next morning when I stumble into the kitchen rubbing my stubbly face. He looks like he's barely slept.

“You don't cook, Dad.”

“I can make cereal! Rhett taught me to make an omelet once on the show, but I can't say I've practiced much.”

“You sit down, Dad. I'll cook you your cereal, okay? You relax.”

He runs a hand through his almost-completely-gray hair, scratches his own stubbly chin, then concedes with a faint nod. “Well, I started the coffee at least. I can cook coffee.”

I chuckle. “Like a pro.”

Once the coffee and cereal have made the rounds, we munch quietly for a few minutes before I disrupt the peace.

“Is Rhett mad that I didn't come for Jessie’s funeral?”

Dad freezes with his spoon halfway to his mouth, then sets it in his bowl and adjusts his glasses. His index finger comes to his lips as it does anytime he's thinking something over.

“I wouldn't say he was mad. Hurt, maybe. But he's a forgiving guy.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Locke and Shepherd are mad.”

“Oh.” I guess I knew that but had hoped I was wrong. “I had to work.”

“I know that, Lando.” I'm not sure if he's absolving me or telling me not to make excuses. His finger stays in place another minute, then he returns to his breakfast.

\---

Rhett invited us all over for dinner that night. I know he did it to relieve our family of having to think about food in the midst of our grief and funeral arrangements, but I think he also misses the noise and the life in his house. It’s been five years since Jessie passed. It was so stupid; she was driving home from the grocery store and was hit head-on by some idiot who was high on something, and he walked away with some bruises and a broken arm. She died at the scene. I may have missed the moment my mom passed, but at least I got to say goodbye, a privilege denied to the McLaughlins.

Dad and I walk in and are instantly greeted at the door by two overly-exuberant youngsters who jump on my dad with squeals of glee. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but I can tell he’s still glad to see them.

“Hi Paige!” He smooches the top of her medium-brown ringlets. “Hey Benny!” he says as he ruffles the stick-straight blond head stretching up from beneath his sister. They look pretty close to the ages I’d guessed from the pictures in the playroom. “I’d like you to meet someone very special. This is my youngest son, Lando.” Paige offers her hand gracefully, and Ben hops up and down. “I’m Ben! Look how high I can jump!”

“Wow,” I chuckle. “That is _very_ high!”

“I know!” And he’s off like a shot toward the sound of conversation in the kitchen. Paige takes Dad’s hand as we follow.

“Grandpa!” she calls ahead in a sweet voice. “Link and Lando are here!” When we reach the kitchen, Hope appears and grabs Paige’s hand, and they race off together down the hall, giggling. Ben runs a few laps around the dining room table before chasing after the girls, spaceship noises ablaze.

Rhett is finishing up dinner with the aid of Shepherd and a pretty pregnant brunette I can only assume is his wife, Ella. Shep and I were so close for so long. I can’t even remember if I called him when his mom died. Useless brother, useless friend. I forcibly swallow my self-loathing and approach.

He turns his head and gives me a half-smile, wiping his hands off on a towel. When his hands are free, he faces me fully and wraps me in a hug. “Hey, man,” he says. I’m so overwhelmed with his kindness, I find I can’t choke out any response at first. Over his shoulder I see Rhett standing over the sink rinsing lettuce, a small smile on his face.

I clear my throat as I release Shepherd and extend my hand to the woman smiling beside him. “You must be Ella.”

She takes my hand in both of hers. “It’s really great to finally meet you, Lando. You’re a bit of a legend around here.” I hear Locke snort from across the room. She ignores him and continues. “We’re so sorry about your mom.”

I clear my throat again. “Thank you. That...that means a lot.” Locke abruptly stands up and leaves the room.

Shepherd turns back to his dad. “What do you figure for dinner? Ten more minutes?”

“Fifteen.”

Shepherd nods then turns back to me. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

I follow him out the patio door, through the backyard and across the street to the park. He walks straight to an old, sturdy orange tree and starts to climb.

“You’re kidding me,” I laugh.

“Yep. I’m hilarious. Come on!”

“I’m too old to climb trees, Shepherd!” I call up to him.

“You’re younger than me! Quit whining and get up here!”

I sigh and dangle speculatively from the lowest branch. Cursing under my breath, I begin to hoist myself up. He is up astoundingly high, or at least for a guy in his thirties. When I finally make it to the branch adjacent from his, he laughs at how out of breath I am.

“When we drive down the road,” he says, “the kids and I look for good climbing trees and point them out to each other, even ones in people’s yards that we’d never actually stop to climb. Trees with good sturdy branches that start low enough to reach and are spaced evenly on the way up. Ben was born to climb. If I lose track of him outside, the first thing I do is look up into the trees.”

“He’s a cute kid, Shep. They both are. And one on the way! Congrats!”

He chuckles. “Thanks. Yeah, turns out parenthood’s pretty great.”

After a brief silence, I remember why we left the kitchen. “Didn’t you say you had something to show me?”

“Oh! Yeah. I found this in my old room today.” He pulls a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me. I tentatively lean into my branch to free a hand to take and open it. It’s written in pencil, faded by years.

 _“Dear Shepherd,_  
_How are you? I am good. Camp is good. The food is good._  
_When I get home, we need to hide the xcalaber. If Locke and Lincoln find it they will steal it._  
_Please tell my brother to stay out of my room except to feed my fish._  
_Your friend,_  
_Lando Neal”_

“What the hell was the Excalibur?” I laugh. “Did we find a sword I forgot about?”

“I was hoping you would remember!”

The sun is starting to set. My stomach growls. “We should probably get back.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

As we walk back I ask him, “Why did we have to climb a tree for you to show me that letter?”

“We didn’t,” he grins. I laugh. Then my smile fades and I stop walking.

“Hey Shep. I’m really sorry. About your mom. And I’m...I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

He doesn’t look at me at first. “Me too. I was pretty pissed, Lando. For a long time.”

“Yeah.”

“But now...we’re in this together.” He turns and faces me with a sad smile.

“Yeah,” I smile tentatively back at him. “Yeah we are.”

\---

Conversation in the dining room is pretty well dominated by a select few. Katie and Ella are sitting together, catching up, enjoying their conversation but clearly making an effort to keep their tones appropriately somber. The kids have their own table in the kitchen, and even though Mona and arguably Sandra would prefer adult conversation, they magnanimously agreed to stay with the little ones to keep the chaos at bay. My siblings are across the table, all but silent. Dad is sitting between Rhett and me pushing his food around his plate. Rhett is making an effort to gently draw others into conversation without overstepping.

“So how is work, Lando?” he asks me.

“It’s pretty good. My team just finished flipping this cape cod. It was in pretty rough shape, but I’m happy with how it turned out. It’s in a nice area, so we had a lot of room to profit there.”

“That’s good, that’s good. Are you missing a lot of work while you’re out here?”

“Well, I had to shuffle some things around, but I can do a fair amount remotely, so it’s actually proving easier than I’d feared.”

Locke snorts. “Amazing.” Rhett shoots him a look that he ignores.

I put my silverware down on the table and sigh. “Do you have something to say, Locke?” Dad looks at me with a pained, pleading expression. Locke puts his silverware down as well and interlaces his fingers, elbows on the table.

“No, I’m just glad to hear it’s been so easy to get away. That you were able to consider your priorities and make time for family. That’s great news. Good job, buddy.” He squints his eyes and smiles daggers at me. Lily takes his arm and starts to say something quietly to him, but he shrugs her off. I guess we’re doing this.

I sigh in resignation. “Just say what you have to say.”

He forcibly exhales in frustration. “What is there to say? We were family. All of us, we were always a family. And I’m glad you were able to make it out here to say goodbye to your mom, truly I am, because she was a great woman and a great mother and she deserved that. But where were you when _my_ mom died, Lando?” His volume is rising with his temper. “You spent almost as much time here as you did at your own house. My mom was a great woman and a great mother too, and she loved you all like you were her own kids! You should have been here, for us and for her!”

The room is deadly silent. I glance quickly around: my dad’s eyes are closed, his forehead creased in an expression of internal anguish. Lily’s face is in her hands. Lincoln’s eyes are on his plate. Katie and Ella’s eyes are jumping between Locke and me, waiting for someone to say something. Rhett and Shepherd are staring at Locke, clearly torn, sympathizing with his feelings but not condoning his public outburst. Even the kids’ table in the next room has gone silent.

“Damn it, Lando!” Locke shouts. “Say something!”

What do I even say? I know he’s right, every word. And I’m not too proud to admit it. But what could I ever say that would even come close to making amends? So I guess I’ll start there.

“You’re right.” I say, barely above a whisper. His expression doesn’t budge. “I know it’s not enough to say that I’m sorry, but I am. I’m so sorry.” I look Rhett in the eye. “I’m so sorry, Rhett. Jessie was a second mother to me, and she deserved better.” I see his eyes fill with tears as mine move to Shepherd and Locke. “I should have been there for you guys. You are my brothers and I should have been there.” My voice cracks on the last sentence, and I stand up before I can start crying in front of everybody. “I’m sorry,” I mutter one more time, not sure if I’m reiterating the same apology or offering a new one for my imminent retreat. I’m out the front door before I make up my mind.


	4. Chapter 4

I walk for ten minutes before I realize I am a grown-up and can call a taxi. I guess I so associate this place with childhood that I forget how old I am. I had let a few tears fall when I first made it out the McLaughlins’ door, but I managed to stem the flow. There’s too much traffic on this road.

When I get home, I head straight for my old room, but I stop outside the doorway when I realize I never looked into one room the other day. I practically tiptoe to the end of the hall, place my hand on the doorknob and freeze. What am I so afraid of? I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I push the door open.

When I open them again on the inside of the room, I have this odd sense of dissonance. My parents’ bedroom feels both unexceptionally familiar and painfully, vividly raw. Standing frozen in the center of the room, I allow my eyes to glance around. Their wedding picture is hanging on the far wall. A picture of the three of us as children sits in a frame on her bedtable. Mom’s robe is draped over the chair in the corner. Her second dresser drawer is cracked open where something wasn’t tucked in all the way. A set of earrings sits on the top of the dresser beside her jewelry box. I feel her slipping away from me, so I crawl onto their bed, lying where she lied, smelling her on the pillow like lavender-rose soap and sunshine. That’s when the tears come.

\---

I wake up later with the same sense of disorientation I’d had the first morning, trying to make sense of my surroundings in the darkness. Eventually I realize I never left my parents’ room, so I must have fallen asleep on their bed.

I have to pee anyway, so I get up and attend to matters in the bathroom where I pause to examine my face, swollen from sobbing myself to sleep, drawn with grief and shame. Man, I look like a trainwreck. Back in my own bedroom, I switch on the light to find my pajama pants—jeans being uncomfortable sleep attire—and Dad throws his arm over his eyes and groans at the sudden brightness. I guess he found me in his bed and didn’t want to disturb me.

“Oh, sorry Dad, I didn’t know you were in here.” I hurry to switch the light back off but he stops me.

“No, it’s alright. It’s okay.” He’s sitting up in my bed with his eyes squinted to slits. “Do you want to talk?” he yawns.

I glance at the clock. 3:49. “Dad...it’s late. Or early. You go back to sleep.” I realize as I’m talking that my own tiredness is quickly fading, and I remember that it was only about 7:30 p.m. when I fell asleep. He studies me for a minute, his eyes gradually adjusting to the light.

“Do you want pancakes?” he asks.

I laugh out loud. “Pancakes??”

“Why not? I didn’t really eat much last night. Want to go to Denny’s?”

I laugh again. Link Neal, age sixty-three, kid at heart. “What the hell. Let’s go. I’ll drive, old man.”

\---

Six blueberry pancakes, four stips of bacon, two disappointing melon-heavy fruit cups, and five cups of coffee later, Dad and I stop shooting the breeze and get back to the real issues. Which isn’t to say that shooting the breeze hasn’t been fun. It’s been a lot of years since we’ve done that.

“You handled that really well, son,” he says with his mug poised in front of his lips.

“What exactly? There’s been a lot to handle lately.”

He breathes a laugh through his nose. “True. I meant Locke. That was really...humble.”

“Well, he was right. I’m an ass.”

“He never said that, and neither should you.”

“He’s probably said it behind my back.”  
  
“Perhaps. But we all say things when we’re angry.”   
  
“He deserves to be angry.”

Dad doesn’t respond to this, choosing instead to complete the sip of coffee he’d been hovering over for a while. He sets his mug down and steeples his fingers.

“Where have you been, Lando?”

Well, there it is. The real question. The waitress saves me by showing up, taking our plates and offering more coffee and the check; I accept both. I stare down into the swirling cream as I stir, hoping the interruption was enough to derail the conversation, but Dad hasn’t given any indication that he’s moved on. He’s just watching me, and I feel exposed.

“I don’t know if I can explain it.”

“Nine years, son. Is it so bad that it can explain not seeing you for almost a decade?” I know he’s hurt, maybe even angry, but he doesn’t show it. He keeps his voice level and his eyes soft, not wanting to push me away again.

“It’s so stupid. It probably wasn’t even real. But it felt real.”

“What felt real, Lando?”

I take a deep breath and look back into my coffee before responding. “What people said. About you...and Rhett.”

When he doesn’t respond after half a minute, I force myself to meet his eyes again. His expression is unreadable, but when I glance down, I see his knuckles are white where his hand grips the handle of his mug.


	5. Chapter 5

We spend several minutes in silence. Dad is processing, and I see several emotions run across his face, many recognizable and some I’m unsure of. Twice he opens his mouth to speak before he settles on his words.

“So you’re telling me...you ran away and hid from your family for _nine years…_ because of _rumors_ about me and Rhett?”

“Dad, listen. I’m not saying anything happened between you two. That’s not for me to say. But it wasn’t just rumors. Whatever it was, I saw it too. And I wasn’t the only one.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I sigh and run my hand through my hair. “When I was little, the life we had with the McLaughlins felt normal. They had always been there, and being so close to their family felt normal. It wasn’t until I got a little older that I started to realize that most families weren’t like ours. Even other families that had close friends that they spent a lot of time with, something was different with our situation. And it all centered around you and Rhett.

“It wasn’t just that you had grown up together, or that you worked together, both of which I know made the relationship all the more remarkable. It was some dynamic between you that I never saw until I was old enough to realize that my other friends’ dads didn’t have friendships like that. It was just...the way you were together. The way you still are. I’ve seen it even in the few days since I’ve been home, and nothing has changed. If anything, it’s stronger. You both have your families now, but now that Mom and Jessie are gone, it’s like you guys are back to what it must have been like before.”

“Lando,” he says with a sigh, “nothing stays the same. Nothing ever goes back to the way it was before. Rhett and I are not the same people we were before we got married. Just because we’re both...widowers…” his voice cracks and he needs to pause before he can continue. “Just because we’re on our own again doesn’t mean we’re just picking back up where we left off.”  
  
“I know that, Dad, and that isn’t exactly what I meant. I know you both have changed, not just because you’re forty years older but also because you’ve each spent forty years loving your wives, and that changes a person. Mom and Jessie changed you both for the better, and I know that even though I didn’t know you before.”

Tears pool in Dad’s eyes, and the side of his index finger rests against his lips, his thumb pressed under his chin. The anger I saw in him a few minutes ago seems to be dissolving into something softer and more raw.

“What I’m trying to say,” I continue, “is that I can see in the last few days how you’re leaning on each other in a way you maybe didn’t have to as much when you had wives to lean on. Your relationship was always special, like I said before, but you both always knew your wives were your first line of defense. They had to be. Now I can see that, in some way, you’re first in each other’s hearts again.”

“Lando…”

“No, hear me out. I know you love us kids more than anything. That’s not what I’m saying. And I also know you love and will love Mom as much for the rest of your life as you did when she was alive. I’m not saying that’s changed either. I’m just saying...I don’t know what I’m saying...”

Dad reaches across the table and grabs my hand. I instinctively want to pull it away, but after a moment I reconsider and let him hold it. I realize the conversation has changed directions, and I have a responsibility to finish what I started.

“When I said I wasn’t the only one who saw something between you...” I see him tense slightly before I go on. “I overheard some conversations when I was in highschool, and even though it wasn’t much to go off of, they filled in gaps in my suspicions.”

“What kind of conversations?” he almost whispers. His level of tension speaks in and of itself about the potential for truth in the rumors.

“I heard Mom and Jessie talking once, about you two. I feel like they were half-joking, or maybe trying to stay positive or not make too big a deal out of it. But there was a discomfort in their tones.”

“What did they say?”

“It was something to the effect of, ‘I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we weren’t around’. Like their introduction into your lives might have interrupted some process that would have played out differently in another life.”

Dad blinks and a tear escapes down his cheek. “What else?” he whispers.

“Lincoln and Locke used to joke about it sometimes too. I think they were trying to process what they were seeing or hearing in a way that kept it from getting too real. I remember hearing Locke saying stuff about you two being ‘gay for each other,’ and they would laugh.” Dad’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything. “The internet just reinforced it. I stopped wanting to watch your show, partially because of the comments, but even if I avoided those, I still saw it in your interactions. Something about the way the two of you acted when your families weren’t around just made it seem even more real.”

“Some of that was for the camera, Lando.”

“Don’t lie to me, Dad!” I yank my hand away. I’m as shocked as he is with my outburst, but I continue. “You guys flirted for the camera, yes, but I saw you when the cameras were off too.” He runs the hand I’ve released into his hair and leaves it there, holding his head up with his elbow on the table. “I saw the way you looked at each other when you didn’t think the other was looking. Or even when the other _was_ looking. That wasn’t friendship I saw in your eyes, Dad. That was love.”

His head is still in his hand, and his eyes are fixed on the table where his plate used to be. A tear drops and puddles there, and he wipes it away with his free hand.

“Love is complicated,” he says finally. We’re silent again for a couple minutes. My coffee is lukewarm, but when the waitress returns, I wave her away with a muttered “No, thank you.”

“I still don’t understand why you would run away for so long over this,” he says.

I clear my throat. “Because I was convinced it was true, that you were in love with Rhett, and I hated you for it. For Mom’s sake. She deserved to be married to a man who only had eyes for her.”

Another tear hits the table. “Yeah,” he whispers. “She did.”


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the morning is spent in blessed busyness, giving both Dad and me an excuse to distance ourselves from the realness that happened at breakfast. When we return to the house, Dad disappears into his office for a few hours while I start up my computer in my bedroom to get some work done. Around 11:00, I’m interrupted by a gentle knock at my door.

“Lando?” he calls through the door.

“Hmm?”

“Lily wants to know if we want to come over for lunch and talk about funeral arrangements.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Just give me ten more minutes to finish this up.”

“Sure, son.” I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall.

When I wrap things up to a good stopping point, I grab my wallet and phone, slip on my shoes, and head downstairs. Dad is sitting on the couch in the living room with his heels pulled up onto the cushion, knees in the air. Even in his sixties he is remarkably flexible. As I approach, I realize he’s paging through his wedding album. I stand behind the couch looking over his shoulder.

“She was so beautiful,” he says without looking up. “To her last day she was beautiful.”

“Yeah, she was,” I agree. He keeps flipping for a few pages. “You looked like a dork.”

Dad laughs out loud.

“A happy dork though,” I clarify.

“Accurate assessment. Let’s go, smartass.”

\---

Locke answers the door. It’s a Saturday, so he’s home from work. It’s the first I’ve seen him since I rushed out of Rhett’s house last night. He gives Dad a macho half-handshake, half-hug, then turns to me and offers his hand, and I take it. Dad continues on to the kitchen to give us some space.

“Hey, man,” I start, “about last night...”

“The past is the past, Lando,” he interrupts. “All of it. It took a lot to apologize like that. And I shouldn’t have called you out in front of the whole family.”

“No, Locke, listen. You were right to do that. Because it wasn’t just you I needed to apologize to. Every person in that room was affected by what I did, and everyone needed to hear me own it.”

He pauses, considering. “You know, I only ever knew Lando the boy. Lando the little brother. It turns out you’re a pretty good man.”

I chuckle gratefully. “Well, I’m learning.” We mutually go in for a quick hug.

“It’s good to have you back, brother,” he says, patting me on the back.

“It’s good to be back.”

We walk together to the kitchen where Lily and her three daughters are whirring around each other like a well-oiled machine. Mona’s sautéing what smells like chicken, Lily and Sandra are chopping vegetables, and Danica’s filling the dishwasher. Lincoln’s there too, leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand, talking with Dad. I see him glance between Locke and me, smiling almost imperceptibly at the notable lack of tension between us. When Lily sees me, she wipes her hands on a towel and steps around her daughters to wrap me in a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers. I’m not sure exactly how she means this, but I’ll take it anyway. I pull back and smile at her. She looks so much like Mom now that I’m momentarily choked up.

“You know, Lil,” I say loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I think I smell a conspiracy. Not only did you try to stem the male population in our combined family by marrying one of the men already in it, but then you went ahead and added three more women to the equation.” I hear the girls giggle.

“It was only fair,” Lily laughs. “You guys were the _worst._ Constantly shooting me with Nerf blasters and making me smell your farts.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Locke steps behind her with a grin. “Her farts are no picnic either.” Lily gasps in mock fury and slugs him in the shoulder.

I join Lincoln and Dad on the other side of the kitchen. “I see how it is,” I say to Lincoln. “Letting the women do all the work while you hang around drinking.”

“Hey!” he says, “I helped!” He points at the plate of sliced bread sitting on the table.

“That looks pre-sliced, Lincoln.”

“Well, I took it out of the bag. And I put the butter out.”

“He wore himself out over that bread,” Lily chimes in. “I told him to take a break.”

“Ha ha,” Lincoln says sarcastically, grinning.

Dad’s remained silent all this time, but when I look at him, he looks happier than I’ve seen him all week. All his kids together, laughing like old times. I suppose that is quite a novelty.

“Where did you stash your family?” I say to Lincoln when I suddenly realize I haven’t seen them.

"They had some errands to run. And Katie was worried they’d add too much chaos if they joined us. Too many cooks in the kitchen.”

“Fair enough. Shall we set the table?”

“Ugh,” he groans in mock distaste. “Slave driver.”

\---

Funeral planning is surprisingly enjoyable. What I had anticipated would be largely a mixture of boring details and painful grieving turns out to be a sweet time of reminiscing about Mom and brainstorming how to best honor her. We go through a million pictures, both the paper ones from earlier in her life and their marriage as well as the digital pictures and videos from all the later years, choosing which ones to display for the service. We laugh till we cry and cry till we laugh as memory after memory is brought to mind. Dad speaks the least, though he answers questions and fills in details we don’t have, and he seems to be enjoying the trip down memory lane even if he isn’t his usual chatty self. We talk for so long, we realize the sun is getting low and we haven’t even eaten dinner.

“Do you guys want a do-over on last night’s dinner?” I ask. “I’ll buy.” Everyone agrees, so we divvy up responsibilities, ordering Chinese and inviting our missing family members. Some had already eaten, but they come anyway for the company.

Later I find myself parked on the couch next to Charlie. “You know,” I say to him, “last time I was home, you were a baby. Tell me about yourself, young man.”

He looks up at me with those brilliant Neal blue eyes. He is an apt namesake. “Well…” he starts, “I like dogs. I want to get a dog, but Mom and Dad say they’re too much work and mess.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle, “they’re right about that. Your dad was about your age when we got our first dog. Her name was Jade. She was so cute, but she was a lot of work.”

“I promised I would do all the work, but they’re still not sure.”

“Well, hang in there, kid. My dad swore for years we would never get a dog, but once we talked him into getting Jade, he was just putty in her paws.”

I look past Charlie and get a glimpse of my dad and Rhett having some wordless conversation across the room from each other. I don’t know how they do that, but I guess knowing someone for almost six decades might make you a little psychically connected. I turn back to Charlie but realize he’s moved to the floor, looking at some game Danica has pulled out. He starts to run off with her before he turns back.

“Oh, bye, Uncle Lando! Thanks for the pep talk!” Lincoln squints at me from where he’s talking to Shepherd a few yards away, but I just shrug innocently.

I go to the kitchen for a beer, and when I come back, I notice both Dad and Rhett are absent.

\---

I had lay down on the couch when I got tired of waiting for my ride to return, and apparently I fell asleep, because I’m awoken by Dad gently shaking me.

“Sorry, son. I guess we lost track of time. Ready to go?”

“Oh, uh,” I glance around the room, disoriented, and I realize gradually that everyone else has gone. “Yeah, okay.” He offers me a hand to help me up, and I stumble around looking for my shoes and anything else that belongs to me. There’s a lamp on in the corner, but the rest of the lights have been switched off. The clock on the wall reads 12:08.

“Dang, Dad, where have you been?”

“Oh, we went for a walk. We had some talking to do.”

“‘We’ as in you and Rhett I take it?”

“Yes, Lando, me and Rhett. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, okay, no need to be defensive, Dad. I was just asking.”

He doesn’t respond at first, but as we walk out the door, he pats me twice on the shoulder blade. “Okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dad decides to skip church the next morning. “I’ll be seeing most of those people at the funeral on Tuesday,” he says, “and I don’t know if I’m ready to go through all the condolences yet.” So we stay home. I imagine there’s still work to be done anyway.

After spending the morning once again getting my own work done, I check in with my siblings to see what they need from me. Food is ordered, pictures are chosen, programs designed and ready to be printed, church is booked, casket purchased, burial plots and headstones long since taken care of. All that we need to do now is finish planning the service.

Lily had made arrangements with their pastor to meet with us all that afternoon. Rhett, Shepherd, and Ella take all the kids ages ten and under to the beach for the afternoon so parents can be freed up for the meeting, and Mona and Sandra are given breaks from all the family-time intensity to spend the afternoon with friends.

Pastor Scott greets us warmly at the door and seems pleased to meet Link and Christy Neal’s prodigal son. I get the impression he’s heard of me. He walks us into the main worship center so we can visually map out the service. It’s clear this is Lily’s department. She and Pastor Scott discuss the placement of microphones for speakers and musicians, flower arrangements, photo displays, a card box, all that stuff. When they both feel satisfied with the layout, Scott invites us all into his office. He has a couple small couches in there for meetings, but he pulls in a few extra chairs to accommodate all seven of us.

“I’m not a big fan of routine funerals,” he explains. “People are individuals, so I think the messages we offer when we say goodbye should be individual too. I am so grateful to have known Christy for the time we were members of this church together, but you all knew sides of her that I never saw. So I’d like to hear from you all to help me round out my memorial sermon.”

He turns to Dad. “Let’s start with you, Link. Tell me how you and Christy met.”

A wistful smile comes over Dad’s face as he takes us back. “It was a roller skating social, junior year of college. She was standing in line outside with her friends. I just went up to her and asked her if she knew how to roller skate, and when she said no, I offered to teach her.” We all know the story, but we smile at its telling anyway. Scott asks us questions, and we rabbit-trail into stories about our childhoods, what it was like being homeschooled and switching to public school, about family vacations, broken hearts and limbs, and the change in both parent-child and husband-wife dynamics when children become adults. He laughs with us and mourns with us, all the while taking notes for his message. We wind down after about two hours, feeling bathed in nostalgia and longing.

> \---

That evening, Rhett opens up his home again for anyone interested. He knows it’s been an emotionally intense afternoon for all of us, and he’s plenty worn-out too from trying to help keep track of children in a public place all afternoon, so he suggests pizza and a movie so no one has to talk if they’re burned out but still want the company. Lincoln and Katie decide to take it easy at home, but the rest of us are in. Shep and Ella can at least put their kids to bed since they’re staying with Rhett.

He puts on _Star Wars: Episode IX_ because the majority agrees it’s the best one. We order some pizzas and just veg and eat in the den. It’s nice to just be. About three-quarters of the way through the movie, I get up to use the bathroom and decide to get some fresh air and stretch my legs a bit while I’m up. I step out the patio door, closing it gently behind me, and breathe in the night air. I follow the same route Shepherd and I took the other night, through the back yard and toward the park across the street, using light steps as I go so as not to disturb the darkness. I make it to the orange tree, resting my hand against the trunk and squinting up into the branches in the dim light to try to make out how high we had climbed. Then I realize I hear familiar voices.

About ten yards ahead of me is a park bench, facing away and to the side from where I’m standing. I almost leave until I notice something funny about their position. Curiosity wins out, and I approach on tiptoe, just close enough to get a better look. Rhett’s right arm is draped across Dad’s shoulders, Dad’s head resting on Rhett’s right shoulder. I dare to get even closer, and I can see that Rhett’s fingers are tracing lazy circles on the skin of Dad’s arm.

“Hate is a strong word,” Dad says.

“Well, so is love, brother,” Rhett responds, “and they both can mean a lot of things.”

“Did we make a mistake, do you think?” Dad rolls his head to the right and tilts it up just enough to look Rhett in the eye.

“Don’t ask that. Don’t even think it.”

“Yeah,” Dad says. “I’m sorry.”

Rhett sighs. “It’s alright. It’s honest.” He inclines his head and kisses my dad on the forehead.

Guilt, rage, fear, shame, hatred. I back away as quickly and quietly as I can. When I get back to the house, I immediately run into Locke in the kitchen. “Can you give me a ride back to my dad’s?” I ask in a frantic breath. I can feel how flushed my face is, and it must give him enough information that he doesn’t even ask why. He grabs his keys off the counter and we’re gone.

\---

We’re not twenty seconds away from the driveway before he pulls over and turns off the engine.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

I’ve got the heels of my hands pressed roughly into my eyebrows, trying to relieve the pressure. I take a deep breath to try and slow my galloping heart. I lift my head and look his way, his face shadowed and streaked from the streetlight up ahead. His expression is both worried and impatient.

“The reason I haven’t been back in nine years, even for your mom’s funeral, was because I was convinced my dad was in love with yours. And probably vice versa. And I hated him for loving anyone but Mom, and I didn’t know how to cope so I just shut everyone out and ran away.” Locke presses his lips together, but otherwise his expression doesn’t change. So I continue. “I talked to him about it yesterday. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t deny it. And just now I went for a walk in the park and saw them cuddling on a park bench. And your dad kissed my dad.”

Locke still doesn’t say a word or even move a muscle, so my words hang painfully, ridiculously in the darkness.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?!” I finally blurt out.

Locke squints and tilts his head, looking just like his dad when he does it. “How old were you when you left, Lando?”

“Twenty-two. Why?”

“It’s hard to process the intersection of childhood and adulthood when you are running from either one or the other.”

“I wasn’t running from my childhood, Locke…”

He cuts me off: “Yes, you were. You were running from a reality of your childhood before you had the chance to process it in mature terms. To get the facts and sort it out like a real, live grown-up. You made an assumption limited by your childish perception of reality, and you let it shape your adulthood.”

I stare at him for a minute. “When did you become a philosopher?”

“See, Lando? Adulthood. We learn and we grow and we change. And sometimes things stay remarkably the same, but we learn to look at them differently because our perceptions change.”

“Alright, smart guy. What am I missing?”

“That love is complicated. And also very, very simple.”


	8. Chapter 8

I sleep in the next morning, and even when I do wake up, I avoid leaving the bedroom for a while except for stealthy trips to the bathroom and back. I don’t want to see him. I heard him come in late last night, and I pretended to be asleep when he peeked into my room to make sure I was there. I’m sure Locke told him he’d taken me home, but dads are dads.

I’m working on my computer in my pajamas. I haven’t eaten anything, but I don’t care. Dad eventually knocks on the door when it’s getting close to lunch time and he still hasn’t seen me.

“Are you hungry, Lando?”

I don’t want to respond because I am hungry and I don’t want that admission to be taken as my acceptance of his invitation. He knocks again.

“Lando? Are you okay? Why did you have Locke drive you home?”

I sigh in resignation and set my computer down on the bed. I open the door so abruptly he’s startled back, and I feel a little smug. He sees the look on my face, and the expression of confusion and concern on his own grows more pronounced.

“What is it? What are you so upset about?”

“You lied to me.”

“I lied to you? About what?”

I run my hand through my hair in frustration and push past him, down the stairs to the kitchen. I grab a bowl, cereal, and milk and pour myself an atypical lunch. I sit down in a huff and try to push down my emotions so I can just eat in peace, but I know that’s not going to happen now. Dad is standing in the doorway, watching my rage-eating in bewilderment. I get through the whole bowl before either of us says anything.

“Are you ready to talk now?” he asks as I rinse my bowl in the sink and shove it in the dishwasher.

I turn around to face him, bracing my hand against the counter and closing my eyes for a moment to collect myself.

“I saw you in the park.”

He freezes, face blank as he mentally rehearses the events of the park, the conversations they’d had.

“Okay…”

“What’s happened between you two?”

He squints his eyes and tilts his head, just like Rhett does, just like Locke did to me last night. “What are you getting at?”

“I heard you ask him if he thought you two had made a mistake. What was the mistake? Did you fuck him? Was it while you were still married?”

I see Dad flinch and the blood rush into his face, though it’s hard to tell if it’s shame or anger.

His tone is still and even as ice when he replies. “Do you want to rein in your assumptions for a minute here before you say anything more you’ll regret later?”

“Why am I going to regret it? Am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong. Because I saw him kiss you.”

Confusion crosses his features for a moment before his face relaxes and he sighs. “Lando, please sit down. I’ll answer any questions you have, but I need you to calm down first.”

If he says he’ll give me answers, I decide I can give a little ground. I walk to the table and sit. Dad looks first at the seat beside me, then opts for the chair across the table, facing me. He reiterates his promise: “If you can stay calm and resist the urge to jump to conclusions, I’ll answer your questions. Go ahead.”

I fold my hands on the table like we’re at a job interview. “What was your mistake?”

“First of all, it was never concluded that a mistake had been made. What you must have heard was me asking Rhett if we had made a mistake, and the question was never answered. We’ve essentially banished the question from being asked.”

“Well, I’m asking it. What was the mistake, Dad?”

He sighs. “It _wasn’t_ a mistake. I’m sure of that. I hate that I even asked it. But what we were talking about was what you said you overheard Mom and Jessie saying when you were young. About whether their introduction into our lives had interrupted a process that may have played out differently otherwise.”

“So you regret your marriage?”

“No! Are you listening? I said it _wasn’t_ a mistake!” He takes a breath to calm himself down and adjusts his glasses before continuing. “Regardless of what we said and what you heard, I’m 100% sure that neither Rhett nor I would ever choose to do anything differently if we could go back and change things.”  
  
“Then why did you ask the question?”

He sighs. “Because I love him.”

And there it is. The truth. The truth I ran from, the truth I hated my father for, the truth I missed my mother’s life for.

“I also heard you say, ‘Hate is a strong word.’ What were you talking about?”

“I told him about our conversation at Denny’s. You said you had hated me for loving him. I guess even if I had suspected it, it still hurt to hear that.” When I don’t respond, he continues in a softer voice. “Do you still hate me for loving him?”

“I thought I was the one asking the questions here,” I say with a slight, teasing smile. He smiles back.

“I don’t hate you, Dad. I don’t really know if I ever did. But I wanted to.”

“I appreciate that, Lando. Not that you wanted to...but that you don’t.”

“Well, don’t push your luck. I’ve become pretty volatile in my old age.”

“Old age??” Dad laughs. “First of all, you are still my baby. And secondly, you were always volatile.” We chuckle in unison. “Did you have any other questions for me? Anything else you need to sort out? Because I want you to understand what you need to, to try to make peace with...whatever this is.”

“Well, now that you mention it. What exactly is this…‘whatever this is’?”

“Honestly, Lando, I don’t even really know how to answer that. It is what it is. It was what it was. It will be what it will be.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Dad chuckles again. “I know. I’m sorry. But I want you to understand something. There was never any cheating. And this is no rebound either. It’s not like that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay!”

“Anything else?”

“Is there anything to eat besides cereal?”


	9. Chapter 9

When I packed in a frenzy at my house a week ago, I was only thinking about seeing my mom alive again. I got to do that, once. I got to say goodbye. I wasn’t, however, thinking about how I would likely be attending her funeral before I flew back again. Hence the lack of suit.

I might have been able to rent one on short notice, but apparently my family doesn’t like me spending unnecessary money renting cars, hotel rooms, suits, or anything else. So we determine a suit of Lincoln’s will fit me. I’m straightening my tie and putting on my cufflinks in front of the full-length mirror in my dad’s bedroom, since there isn’t one in my room. In the reflection I see him milling around the room, looking for something while avoiding disturbing anything of Mom’s. He doesn’t want anything to change from the way her hands left them.

“Do you need help finding something, Dad?” I say to his reflection.

“There’s an envelope,” he mutters. “I don’t know where she left it.”

I turn to join him, mirroring his pattern of searching high and low without disturbing any of her things unnecessarily.

“She told me where it would be, but I didn’t want to talk about it,” he mutters again in pained frustration. “I should have paid attention and let her talk.”

I place my hand on her jewelry box, and when he glances at me he stiffens. This is one of her things, sacred, not to be disturbed. Then I see his resolve weaken; this is how we have to find it. I open the lid. The envelope inside has her handwriting across the front, slanted and graceful: _“For My Family”_. Slowly I hand it to him, and he takes hold of it with reverence.

“Are you ready to leave, Dad?”

He continues staring down at the envelope in his hand a few moments before he nods.

\---

For two hours I stand at the end of a receiving line next to Lincoln, shaking the hands of a thousand people who either haven’t seen me since I was in highschool or _maybe_ college, or who have never met me but had varying degrees of knowledge of my existence depending on how close they were to my parents. It’s just a lot of complete strangers, a lot of hands and a few awkward hugs or kisses on the cheek, and lots of sad smiles and thanks offered for their condolences. I wonder if the rest of my family finds it easier or harder to cope knowing these people better than I do. I look down the line, the four of us arranged by age, suddenly feeling anew the absence of my mother. We had five people in our family.

In between strangers, I glance around the room, my brother-in-law, sister-in-law, nieces and nephew milling around offering and accepting niceties as well, though not restricted to the formal lineup. After our two hours are up, Pastor Scott sidles up behind Dad to let him know we’re going to get ready to begin the service. There are still people in line, but Scott announces apologies that we’re going to need to get started but there will be time to visit more with the family at the reception following the service. At least I’ll get to eat, so that’s one thing to look forward to.

Most people have been seated in the worship center, and when we walk in, I feel like I’m a groomsmen in a weird, somber wedding. I sit down in the front row, still placed at the end of the line next to Lincoln. Locke and Katie join their spouses in the front row, but their children are seated right behind us with the McLaughlins. I turn and smile at the kids, then at Shepherd. I wonder if I’ll ever stop regretting that I wasn’t here when he was in my shoes.

“Welcome. Thank you all for coming,” Scott begins. “It’s clear Christy was a beloved woman, not just by her church family where I knew her the best, but by everyone whose lives she touched. There are people here from all over the country, from North Carolina, Pennsylvania,” he nods at me when he says this, "and everywhere in between. Even some international guests.

“If you aren’t familiar with our church community or any church like ours, you might be surprised by this service. We don’t do funerals, not really. We have celebrations. We know that life is bittersweet, and we accept the bitter with the sweet. A seed has to die for new life to grow. After winter comes the spring.

“Christy’s life was a celebration of this truth. She gave her life away every day for the people around her. She sacrificed what she could so the lives of others could be richer. She knew that life is short, and the best way to spend it is to give it away.

“We’re going to hear some more about the impact Christy’s life made by hearing from the people who knew her best, but first we’re going to have a song to reflect on what mattered most to her.”

At this, Rhett stands up slowly and makes his way across the room to where his guitar is perched beside a microphone. Being careful not to twist his back, Rhett slips the guitar strap over his shoulder and begins to strum. After a few instrumental bars, his rich baritone fills the room, like warm honey stirred into whiskey.

 _“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound_  
_That saved a wretch like me_  
_I once was lost, but now I’m found_  
_Was blind but now I see”_

I look down the row at Dad. There are silent tears running down his cheeks, and Lily is holding his hand in both of hers against her thigh.

 _“Twas grace that taught my heart to fear_  
_And grace my fears relieved_  
_How precious did that grace appear_  
_The hour I first believed_

 _“When we’ve been there ten thousand years_  
_Bright shining as the sun_  
_We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise_  
_Than when we’d first begun.”_

As he carefully pulls his guitar off and parks it back on its stand, Dad releases Lily’s hands with a squeeze of thanks and then stands and meets Rhett at the microphone, wrapping him in a tearful hug right then and there. After several unapologetic moments, they release each other, and Dad takes Rhett’s arm to help him back to his seat. Then he picks up the microphone in the center of the front platform.

“Thank you again for being here,” Dad begins. “Every person in this room was special to my wife. Every person in here had an impact on her, and I’m willing to bet the reverse is true as well.” Several people around the room nod in agreement.

“When we received the news that Christy had late-stage breast cancer, we were obviously shocked, but she was never afraid. She knew her life had had purpose and that the next would be the fulfillment of everything she had lived for. She was the best person I knew. The kindest, most humble, most generous person I ever met. And she loved me. I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but it’s very possible God brought her into my life because I would have been lost without her. She taught me to love selflessly and patiently, neither of which I’ve gotten much of a handle on to be honest, but that just goes to show you how much I needed her.” His eyes turn to us. “She gave me the three best kids on earth. Everybody says that, I know. But the way she loved them, it shaped them. They are who they are today because of her, as much as I am what I am because of her.” His eyes lock with mine now. “I wouldn’t change a single thing. Not one thing. I would marry her all over again.”

Suddenly he seems to remember something he’d almost forgotten about, and he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out Mom’s envelope.

“Before she died, Christy wrote letters to me and the kids. They haven’t seen theirs yet,” he looks at us with an apologetic smile, “but they will. I wanted to read you all part of what she wrote to me though. Not all of it, of course, because it’s none of your dang business, but you can have a portion.” The crowd chuckles softly as he opens his letter and puts the rest back in his jacket.

_“I want you to know that it was all worth it. It wasn’t always easy, and our lives weren’t what we might have expected, but they were what we needed. And you can tell everybody that, that it’s worth it. Tell them I went Home without regrets. That doesn’t mean I lived perfectly, but it means I know everything I did was covered with God’s grace. Tell them they can work and plan and save and build a picture-perfect, comfortable life, but that if they don’t learn to love extravagantly and unapologetically, to look their loved ones in the eyes and hold their hands and laugh and cry with them, everything they’ve built for themselves will be meaningless. Love is the answer; not just the feeling of love, but the choice. To love with your whole self even when you don’t feel it, even when the other person doesn’t deserve it. Love anyway, and with reckless abandon. You won’t regret it.”_

\---

In movies and on TV, the scene at the gravesite is always rainy, or at the very least, overcast. It almost feels wrong that it’s so beautiful outside on the day we lay my mother in the ground. Birds are singing, the sun is shining, and the temperature is just the right amount of warm.

There isn’t much more to be said now that the funeral is done. The burial has been reserved for family and closest friends. I walk up and join the small crowd, listening to the brief words of goodbye and prayers offered over my mother’s casket. Lily is curled into Locke’s chest, Lincoln’s arm protectively around Katie, Shepherd’s arms wrap around Ella and their unborn baby in a hug from behind as she leans back against him. The children stand close to their parents’ sides, glancing from face to face, unsure how to process the reality of adults crying. Dad is leaning into Rhett’s side, his face drawn with grief. Each family is to lay a daisy on the casket, sending the sunshine down with her. When it’s Dad’s turn, Rhett intends to hang back, but Dad takes his arm and urges him along at his side. They are family. Dad has never been alone because Rhett was always there, and that’s not changing now.

When the burial ceremony is done, the families move off to their separate cars. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, and since everyone else needs to return back to their lives in the morning too, we decide to say our goodbyes now. There are a lot of hugs to be had, but these I don’t mind so much. This is my family, not a parade of strangers with obligatory, even if sincere, niceties. There are tears of goodbye, but the tears are bittersweet. Our time has been good even if the circumstances weren’t. As I’m saying my final goodbyes to my siblings, I glimpse Dad and Rhett talking together further up the path, silhouetted against the horizon. Rhett’s head is bowed low, their foreheads almost touching, his hand resting on Dad’s arm. Dad nods, and Rhett smiles, laying his other hand against Dad’s cheek. My eyes jump away, as I feel I’ve intruded on something not meant for me. A few minutes later, Rhett joins the group, walking up to me and extending his hand. I take it, pulling him in for a one-armed hug.

“You’ll take care of him now?” I ask.

“I always do.”

\---

Dad and I are left alone in the sunshine, looking down at the headstones. I hadn’t really seen them until now. There are four in a row, matching headstones equally spaced. From left to right: Christian Michelle Neal, Charles Lincoln Neal III, Rhett James McLaughlin, Jessica Lane McLaughlin. Dad’s and Rhett’s stones have been carved with their birthdates, leaving the dates of death blank.

“When did you get these made? When Jessie died?”

“No. It was when you went to college. We were all empty-nesters then, so we started talking about old people things, thinking of how we could make our passings smoother for you all. We decided we could buy our burial plots and headstones and save you all that trouble.”

The wind blows over the hill and messes up Dad’s hair. I see the patches of black still mixed into the gray, few and far between, yet not gone yet.

“How did Mom and Jessie feel about this arrangement? Didn’t they want joint headstones with their husbands?”

“It was your mom’s idea actually.” My eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t notice; he’s still staring at her name carved into the stone. “She always knew there was a part of me she would have to share with Rhett. There was a part of my heart he had always and would always have. She wouldn’t have married me if she had objected to that. She said it didn’t feel right for me to be further separated from him in death simply out of principle.

“I don’t want you to misunderstand me, Lando,” he continues, looking at me now. “Christy was my wife. I promised myself to her and her alone. This wasn’t a spouse-swap situation or an open marriage. It wasn’t like that, not for any of us. Love is bigger than that. Love doesn’t need to have an easy label or category to fit into so we can make sense of it. You just know that it’s there and you go on about your business. Rhett and I always got that. And part of the reason we fell in love with Christy and Jessie is that they got it too. They weren’t threatened by it. They didn’t need to be.”

We stand in silence a while longer, both of us looking at the headstones and chewing on his words.

“So where will you two go from here?”

“Where we’ve always gone. Anywhere, together.”


	10. Epilogue

My name is Lando. I was last.

I was last to learn the meaning of family. I was last to understand the broadness of love.

My siblings, those by blood and otherwise, taught me to grow up. Getting older, having a career, and other grown-up things don’t count if you still think like a child. It’s good, even healthy, to change. So I’m changing.

My father taught me to listen. There’s always more to the story. There’s always someone who needs to just be heard, to be understood. So I’m listening.

My mother taught me to love.

_Dear Lando,_

_When you were born, your father and Rhett put your face on the internet for all to see. They were so proud of you, and they knew the following they had accrued would want to meet you immediately. You were the Baby Beast. But first, in the hours before your face went public, you were mine, mine and your dad’s. You didn’t belong to the world yet; you were just my baby. You will always be my baby._  
_I know a mother is always supposed to know her children’s hidden motives, but I have something to confess. We don’t know everything. And among the many things I don’t know is why you’ve run away. Something has hurt your heart, and you use work and your new life as a shield. But the truth will find you, Lando. Sometimes it’s scary, but it’s always better than the lies. The lies will never make you free._  
_When you read this, my body will be in the ground, and my spirit will be with Jesus. I hope we got to say goodbye, sweet one. But more than that, I hope you’ve found your way home. There will be closed wounds that will need to be torn open and cleansed, but it will be worth it to be healed and whole again. I’m not going to lie to you, baby. It will hurt. When you were a boy, I would tell you that bravery was not being unafraid, it was facing your fears and doing the right thing in spite of them. So be brave, Lando. Be strong and courageous._  
_I want you to dare to let your world get bigger, and to let your family back into it. Your father will need you. He needs to know you, the adult you, not just the boy who slipped away from us._  
_He also needs to know you love him just as he is. Give him the space to be who he really is, the man you couldn’t fully see with a child’s eyes, and let him see that you can still love him even with his warts and failings out on the table. We all need that. When you left, it shook his confidence. He needs your forgiveness and your love. I know you have the capacity to give those to him._  
_And lastly, know that I forgive you. I don’t care why you left, so long as you come home. Be a brother again. Be a son again. Be an uncle. Be a Neal. Our family isn’t whole without you._  
_Dare to love as wholly as you are loved, and then keep on loving. You won’t regret it._

 _I am always yours,_  
_Mom_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Meet Lando, Link's Baby"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8dHiZWzoIc)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for kudos-ing, commenting, and subscribing!  
> You know what time it is!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Quiet Inside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352410) by [loudspeakr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudspeakr/pseuds/loudspeakr)
  * [What Falling Feels Like](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862926) by [loudspeakr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudspeakr/pseuds/loudspeakr)




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